


Dear Phineas

by EmitTime



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: (a.k.a. i probably ruin "The Other Side" with angsty imagery), Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual P.T. Barnum, Bisexual Phillip - Freeform, Charity is Queen, Crying, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Inspired by Music, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Third Person, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Polyamory Negotiations, Pre-Poly, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Suicidal Thoughts, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, bisexual circus dads, lettie is circus mom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 01:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmitTime/pseuds/EmitTime
Summary: The night Barnum returns from the Jenny Lind tour, there is no fire. There is only Phillip, beaten nearly to death by protestors, with a letter in his waistcoat pocket that changes everything.





	1. Whiskey and Misery

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Phillip angst and wanted to explore more of the tortured writer side of him, and then I was sidetracked by the realization of how divine Charity is, so this was the result. Chapter titles and beginning/ending italics taken from "The Other Side", off the TGS soundtrack.
> 
> Please note: Warning for suicidal ideation throughout.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While running the circus in Phineas' absence, Phillip struggles with old demons and new feelings.

__

 

.x.

 

_Don’t you wanna get away from the same old part you gotta play?_

.x.

 

Like the actors in his plays, Phillip had grown accustomed to playing roles – the good son, the socialite, the independent bachelor, and most recently, the friend and partner of P.T. Barnum.

Like his characters, he was no stranger to sadness – they were his outlet for that turmoil, after all, which was part of the reason why people hardly ever smiled at his work. Before he began working at the circus, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced true happiness. Beneath the surface of his gilded lifestyle had been repression, fear, and a deep sense of hopelessness regarding his own future.

 

He had been lying when he told Anne that he didn’t have an act. Of all the members in the circus, he was probably the fakest. His entire life was a carefully constructed act, passable on the outside, but hollow on the inside.

The truth was, on the night Barnum had sought him out to join the circus, Phillip had wanted to die.

 

He had wanted to die for a long time – most of his life, in fact. He had tried a few times – stood on the train platform, close enough to the edge that a single step would change everything, drank until his pulse thrummed painfully and he felt sick with confusion, and held a knife to his wrist more times than he could count, always close but never quite brave enough to cut deeply enough, to risk being found too soon, to risk the scars.

Instead, he carried those mars where no one could see.

 

The circus – _P.T. himself_ – had been his lifesaver. When he’d joined, he suddenly had a reason to want to be around people again. He felt needed, appreciated, even useful. The troupe was far more welcoming toward him than they’d needed to be or should have been. He was an outsider from a different world, but they took him in, listened to him, put as much trust in him as Barnum did. At first, Phillip thought that they would all treat him coldly after Barnum left for his nationwide tours with Jenny Lind, but quite the opposite happened. If anything, he became even closer to everyone – except for Anne, whom he deeply regretted having hurt. He still stayed awake at night, regretting that evening at the opera, replaying her hurt expression and their bittersweet exchange over and over.

 

(After she’d walked away, making it clear that she saw no future with him, he had the cruel, selfish thought to hang himself from the still-dangling rope right then and there. But he would have hurt Anne by doing so, and the circus didn’t need that sort of bad press anyway, and there was always the chance that someone would have found him before he’d fully asphyxiated. He’d stood there alone instead, feeling lost, staring at that rope until he found it in himself to return to his empty room.)

 

She was so brilliant, so strong and kind, and he had repaid her patience and trust with cowardice and insensitivity.

Perhaps the worst part was knowing that he’d not only lost her as a potential lover, but as a friend, as well. The trouble was, Phillip didn’t know if he could have done her justice as a lover, anyway. He hadn’t been interested in women before her, but being around her was – dynamic, breathtaking, _exhilarating_. He had thought that maybe, she could be the one with whom he could be happy spending the rest of his days.

 

But there was that other part of him that thought about Barnum constantly, far too much to be only a friend – the part of him that ached for P.T. more than the absence of a business partner should warrant.

That was also the part of him that reacted most strongly to the insults hurled by the protestors night after night, the word _freak_ echoing hatefully in his thoughts, all the way down to the end of a bottle.

 

.x.

 

He led a dichotomous life now more than ever, smiling and twirling on stage for the crowds, believing every promise of the circus – _this is where you want to be_ – only to feel lethargic and hopeless at the end of each day, when he realized anew that he didn’t belong there or anywhere, that he was a waste of space that more talented, capable, and worthy people were more deserving to take.

He hated himself all the more for that deception, but it was the kind of self-loathing he’d grown accustomed to over the years, since he couldn’t recall a day in his life when he’d been fully honest with himself or anyone around him.

 

.x.

 

Barnum was a lively, entertaining, captivating presence. Without him, although Phillip was busy trying to keep the circus financially afloat and appealing to crowds, he missed the wonderful distraction of having the older ringleader around.

Without him, the immense heaviness that had followed Phillip for years was much harder to bear. He carried anger, sadness, but most detrimental of all was the _guilt_. It had built up from his childhood, from the time his father first shouted that he was a failure to his mother’s first slap, his father’s first caning, the beatings and the hurtful words all serving to instill in him the horrible fact that he was not pleasing, that he was no good; he only brought disappointment and he brought all of his pain upon himself.

 

Phillip was careful never to mention any of these feelings around the troupe. He couldn’t bear the scandal if anyone found out, not to mention how differently they would treat him, knowing that he’d been born into such wealth and privilege, only to fail to please even his parents.

He watched the interactions between family members such as the albino twins and W.D. and Anne, how they possessed such loyalty and love toward one another, despite their hardships and differences. He knew that he would never have that. He wasn’t worthy of that kind of devotion.

 

P.T. had almost welcomed him into his family, and Phillip had almost felt at home, but Barnum was gone now, and the warmth along with it.

Phillip still visited Charity and the girls occasionally, but it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same, when Phillip knew that he was the cause of her heartache, as well.

 

He ached for her every time she gave him one of her tired, halfhearted smiles when he asked how she was truly doing. Barnum’s absence was harder on her than anyone, not that she would ever admit it – especially given what they both had observed about him and Jenny Lind.

 

“I’m sorry, Charity.” Phillip uttered one night on his way out, after the girls had gone to bed after several bedtime stories tenderly read by him. He must have looked as wretched as he felt in that moment, overcome with a special kind of guilt reserved for tearing apart the relationship between this wonderful woman and her husband. “I wish that I had never introduced P.T. to that woman.” He wished, too, that he could erase his feelings for P.T., if only to make all of the Barnum’s lives easier.

Charity leaned against the doorframe, her expression soft and sad. “I wish so, too, Phillip. But it’s not your fault. All we can do is wait for him to come home.” She straightened up a bit, and in her wise eyes Phillip read determination and strength. “ _This_ is his home, after all.”

 

He could barely speak enough to return her bid of goodnight, crying silently on the dimly lit walk home.

His only place in Barnum’s life would be that of the visitor, the business necessity. He could never compete with Charity for his affections, nor would he want to, for they deserved one another in the best of ways.

 

He, on the other hand, was not even worthy of this life he led, filled with good fortune and gracious people, yet still so lonely.

 

.x.

 

He hadn’t written anything more than an advertisement or a business letter since joining the circus, but when Phillip realized that he loved Barnum – _loved_ him differently from anyone else in his life, differently from Anne, he broke down.

 

In a drunken haze, he rifled for pen and paper, dipping the fine tip in ink and tapping into his long-suppressed emotions at last.

 

What he began was not an outline for a play, but a different kind of letter, more honest and raw than anything he’d ever had the courage to write before. His penmanship was sloppy and frantic, but the words were miraculously, _horrifically_ clear, flowing as if he couldn’t stop them if he tried.

 

_Dear P.T.,_

_I wish you were here. I wish it in the most selfish of ways, in a way only Charity should have a right to wish. I saw her and the girls this evening. They miss you so much. I miss you, too, more than I should. You made everything better. You made me better. I felt like I belonged for a while, but now I just want to die again. Maybe I will, soon. But I’m trying to be good enough for the circus until you get back._

_Please come home soon. I don’t know how much longer I can—_

 

.x.

 

When he woke the next morning, he was horrified to find what he’d written, the ink half smudged with tears and drunken carelessness, yet far too legible. The words were surely a sign of weakness, of his inability to do so much as function normally to fulfil the one job Barnum had entrusted to him – the one purpose he had left in his life.

 

He hastily tore the paper up before rushing to prepare himself for the day ahead.

 

At the circus, he avoided the concerned stares of Lettie, Charles, Anne, and even W.D. They didn’t need to know how much he was struggling with his petty feelings, not when they had actual struggles and coped so much better than him. He’d be wasting their time, and they didn’t need that.

 

When Barnum came back, they wouldn’t need him anymore at all.


	2. Disgraced and Disowned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip receives a letter, and writes one of his own.

It wasn’t a surprise when he received the letter stating that he’d been disowned, cut off from familial ties and funding, but it was horrible timing.

 

His first thought was the circus, and he brought the letter in to his and Barnum’s shared office – the one place that still managed to exude enough of the ringmaster to make him feel at ease on most days – to go over the books and figure out how he was going to both live and keep the circus afloat from here on out.

 

(He fleetingly pondered the likelihood of being killed on impact if he fell from a building of the circus’ height, even checked to be certain he had the key to the roof on hand, before reminding himself that it wasn’t worth the risk; it would still be bad publicity and his job was far from over.)

 

His hands shook as he poured over their records, the weight of this newest failure threatening to cave his chest in. _Disgraced and disowned_ , just as he’d feared from the start, and now that it was a reality, he knew that he deserved it, yet regretted it all the same. The only positive aspect was that Anne wouldn’t have to share this final blow from his parents with him, not that she likely would have cared as much as he did. That was one of the things he admired about her.

 

The decision was simple. He would begin applying most of his ten percent cut to the circus’ expenses, and use as little as possible to live. He wasn’t very enthusiastic about living, anyway, so why should he steal extra comforts from others? He could stand to drink and even eat less, and waking up earlier to walk places would cut down on transportation fees. He could still fulfil his duties and be useful. He had no right to even be afraid, really. He’d chosen this.

 

Lettie found him when he didn’t make his usual pre-show rounds on time. He was still staring at the mess of their records, hands fisted in his hair, harsh gasps escaping his heaving chest, breathless and dangerously close to outright sobbing. He wished that the floor would open up and swallow him whole, but instead, he was wordlessly enveloped in her warm embrace, in the closest thing to a motherly gesture he’d ever received.

 

He cried in earnest then, holding on as if he were drowning, which wasn’t so far off from the truth.

 

She found the disownment notice among the papers and wasn’t pleased when he tried to brush the news off as insignificant, insisting that he should at least tell Barnum, that maybe it would make him remember to care more about the circus and even come back to help them.

 

Phillip just shook his head. “He wouldn’t come back. Not for me. And anyway, this is my problem to handle. No one else should need to worry about it.”

“Don’t you get it, Phil? We’re a family here, and you’re one of us.” Lettie insisted, almost too heartfelt for the younger ringmaster to bear. “You’ve been one of us for a while now. You can tell us when you need help. Promise that you will?”

He nodded, mouth dry, heart pounding. “I promise.”

 

The thing about wanting to die was that it mattered far less whether one lied or not in the meantime. No one had ever accused him of being a good person, anyway.

 

.x.

 

He moved to cheaper lodgings – a single room with shared latrines and showers – and sat on the aged wooden floor one night with a blank page before him and inked pen in hand. Despite being intoxicated at the time, he remembered how cathartic writing his last letter to Barnum had felt, to feel close to him that way instead of reading sensationalized headlines and seeing photos of him next to Jenny Lind.

 

_~~Dear P.T.,~~ _

 

He scratched out the words and tried again.

 

_Dear Phineas,_

 

That sounded formal, but _Phin_ would be too familiar. _Phineas_ was at least personal. And his feelings for Barnum were quite personal at this point.

He decided to continue, his hand shaking slightly, as if his body was still reluctant to share his heart.

 

_I hope this letter finds you well, and I wish for your safe return when it’s time._

_Today, I found out that my parents disowned me. Don’t worry, the circus should be fine, especially after you take your cut from the Jenny Lind tours. I’m still upset that you left ~~me~~ us for that, by the way. The circus isn’t the same without you, but we’re all trying. I hope you’ll be happy with our efforts when you come back._

_There are so many other things that I feel the need to tell you, but I know that I probably shouldn’t. Part of me wants to tell you anyway, through this letter. Maybe it will be easier to read than to hear from me directly, and if anything happens to me, then you’ll still know._

_I should start with business. Starting today, since I am cut off from my parents’ funds, I am using most of my ten percent cut toward circus expenses. Please don’t worry about it. Lettie seemed to think it was crazy, but it’s my decision, and quite frankly, I can’t think of a better use for the money than to put it toward what we all love doing. I know that it will pay off, especially after you’re back._

_I should also say that the circus is doing well, aside from the protestors. They become more aggressive with each passing night, and I feel so small in the face of their anger. They seem to know that I don’t carry the presence that you do, and I’m sorry for that. I try to do as I’ve learned from you, to keep them at bay with a firm but good-humored attitude, and so far we haven’t had any major incidents._

Phillip took a break to lean back against his mattress, releasing a breath as he rotated his wrists back and forth. Now came the tough part – everything else that should be said.

He spent so long thinking on how to start that his tired body took the easy way out instead, and he fell asleep in that uncomfortable position, half on the floor and half on the mattress, ink staining his thin sheets.

 

In the morning, he carefully set the letter aside, hoping to find the words he needed throughout the day.

 

.x.

 

“Lettie told me about what happened with your parents.” Anne had found him shortly after he arrived at the circus. “It’s a shame, but you didn’t need their opinions, anyway.” She still carried herself with a guarded posture, as if she was ready and waiting to be hurt by him again, but there was no bitterness in her tone. Not toward him, at least.

“I know,” Phillip tried to smile, then remembered that Anne had already seen the ugly sides of himself that he tried to keep hidden – the fearful coward who would snatch his hand away, the liar who feared rejection, the desperate loner yearning for companionship – and dropped the act. “The important thing is that the circus will be alright.”

“But will you be, Phil?” She asked with a softer expression, more concerned by his response rather than assured. “You know we’re here for you, right?”

“I know, but you really shouldn’t worry. We have more important things to worry about.” He left before she could refute, unwilling to be caught in a position like he’d been with Lettie the day before.

 

As lonely as he still was, as much as he selfishly craved acceptance and attention from these people who were all too good to him, there was also that listless, destructive, self-hating part of him that whispered _don’t get attached_.

 

These days, he found himself listening to that part more and more.

 

.x.

 

_Now for the truth, Phin._

 

He picked up where he’d left off the previous night, after mustering courage from one of the bottles he still had on hand, a poisonous remnant of his past luxury.

 

_I think you’re a fool for running off with Jenny Lind, not just because we miss you at the circus and the crowds miss you, but because Charity and the girls miss you. Don’t think I’m blind to way you’ve been looking at Ms. Lind, because I’m not. It’s the same way Charity looks at you and maybe it’s the same way that I look at you, too._

 

He stared at the words he’d written, dread settling in the pit of his stomach, even as some hopelessly romantic part of him felt lighter and relieved.

 

_I love you, Phineas. I think that I loved you before you even left, but now I know for certain, because I see Charity pining for you and I understand that feeling – not in the exact same fashion, of course, but for the same reason. And I just hope that when you come back, she’ll be happy with you again. I don’t name a place for me in that vision because I know there isn’t one, and that’s alright. I know you wouldn’t judge me for what I am, but I also understand that you wouldn’t want to associate with me on a personal level after reading this. I just hope that you’ll allow me to remain by your side at the circus, if that’s possible at all._

_I’ll probably tear this letter into pieces like I did the last one, but for now, I want to tell you everything. I’ve come this far, after all._

_I think about my death more than I should. Writing was my outlet for those morbid thoughts, and alcohol helps, as well, but I don’t think anything can cure me. I thought you had cured me for a short while – and I am grateful to you for that, among so many other things – but now it’s as if I’ve lost that initial joy, as well. The things that I truly want in this life are not possible, so I think that I am better off not being around. I know that me being gone would make life less complicated for you and your family, when you return. But in the meantime, I will try my best with the job you gave me._

Phillip was somewhat aware of how closely this letter was beginning to resemble a suicide note, yet he didn’t want to stop. The selfish, depraved part of himself that wanted to bare everything to the world – consequences be damned – urged him to see this trail of thinking to the end.

So, he drank and wrote.

 

_If something does happen to me and if you ever do read this, know that you aren’t to blame for it. I think that I was doomed long before I met you, and I would rather you go on happily than to waste any more time and energy on me. You’ve already done so much for me, and in a perfect world, I would have liked to be by your side in your personal life as well as in business._

_I don’t think you’re aware of the impact you’ve had on everyone at the circus, including me. You were right when you called my life miserable and said that I was trapped in a cage. I can’t remember a time when I was happy other than my time with the circus, and with you. I’ll be sad to lose that, but I know I will lose it, one way or another. Just know that no matter what happens, I will always care about you, and I’m just sorry that I couldn’t do more to show you. Showmanship will always be your best forte, however much I wish to be just as grand one day._

_I don’t know how coherent this entire letter is, and I doubt I’ll even have the courage to read it over again, but I hope you understand what I’ve tried to say. And I’m very grateful that my first sensation of feeling at home was with you, the first time you took me backstage at the circus._

_~~With love,~~ _

_~~Kindest regards,~~ _

_Love always,_

_Phillip_

Somewhere along the way, he’d begun to cry – something he’d been doing far too often lately – and some of the ink was distorted and cloudy, but Phillip couldn’t bring himself to care if Phineas realized the cause or not.

 

He felt empty, as if every bit of life he’d had was left on those pages, and whatever ugly, depleted residue was left wasn’t worth considering at all.


	3. In the Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charity wants to get through to Phillip, and Phillip might want Charity, as well as Phineas.

He should have destroyed the letter immediately, but the same self-destructive part of himself that had been determined to finish writing all those damning words was also reluctant to throw the evidence away. Instead, he folded the pages into an envelope and wrote P.T.’s name across the top, scrawled carelessly because he had no intention of mailing the letter. The information was too sensitive; it would be better to deal with it in person when Barnum was back, and then nothing would stop Phillip from…evading whatever came next.

 

He thought about the letter and its subject matter constantly, so much that he could practically feel himself marked with a scarlet letter or some other tangible indication of his corruption.

But apart from the concerned glances that had become almost normal toward him at the circus, no one seemed the wiser.

No one, aside from Charity.

 

“The girls miss you,” she’d cornered him one evening after the show, or at least it had felt that way.

“Do they?” She knew he could never deny them anything; he was as weak as Barnum in that regard. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to fix that soon, won’t I?” He cast a glance off to where Helen and Caroline were petting Charles’ horse, the general himself proudly holding the reins.

Charity followed his gaze to regard the sight fondly for a moment, before her focus quickly returned to him. “Have you been working too hard, Phil?” She asked, and he could have sworn that the warm compassion in her eyes was akin to the way she looked at Phineas, right down to the glimmer of knowing _affection_. “Or have you been avoiding me?”

Phillip hesitated; between the truth and a lie, he didn’t know which would be worse. “I—well, I _have_ been busy lately, but—I just—I didn’t realize…” He stammered, only to find words again when she placed a caring hand on his shoulder, leaving him feeling strangely grounded. “I just thought you might have wanted a break from me, that’s all.”

She laughed, not unkindly and not entirely glad, and in that moment he felt as though, out of everyone in his life, Charity Barnum might be the most similar to himself – barring the fact that she alone was an absolute saint, after all.

“If I didn’t want you around, I would have said so,” she assured. “I’m already having a break from Phineas, and you don’t need to make yourself a stranger, as well. You’re welcome any time. Come by for dinner on Sunday, if you’d like?”

 

The pages of his darkest confessions burned against his breast pocket, and he could scarcely comprehend why she would want him around, but he found himself nodding all the same, reaching for her hand to squeeze it gratefully.

“I think I would like that.”

 

.x.

 

He didn’t know what possessed him to ask and make himself so transparent, but during a lull in their post-dinner conversation – and if anyone had told him five years ago that he’d be keeping an older woman company and finding her more admirable by the moment while her husband, whom he also had strong feelings for, toured the country while he put his own salary into their business, he’d have laughed in their face – Charity looked so forlorn that he had to ask.

 

“Any word from P.T.?”

She shook her head with a wry huff. “He hasn’t written. All I know is what I read in the papers, however much they can be trusted.”

Phillip glanced away, swirling his champagne, hoping that the burning of his cheeks could be passed off as effects of the alcohol. “Have you thought about writing to him?”

He wasn’t sure why, but Charity nearly lost her composure at that. He was on the verge of apologizing when she spoke again, after suppressing her tears. “You know, it’s funny that you mentioned it. When we were younger, Phin and I used to write letters all the time. _Nothing_ could stop us. I don’t even know, sometimes, how he got them to me, but…he always did.” She  gestured around the dining room. “And now that we have everything…not a word from him. So, I haven’t written to him, because if he wanted to hear from me, he would have gotten in touch. I’m still waiting on that.” The words _waiting on him_ went unspoken, but Phillip understood nonetheless. Neither he nor Charity wanted to voice the obvious, but it was there all the same – Phineas had left because he’d _forgotten_ who and what was most important to him, not because he was doing this for them. Not at this point.

“Well, he’s lucky that you’re waiting.” The former playwright declared emphatically. “He’s lucky that you’re here, that you’ve been here for him this whole time.”

“You’re too sweet, Phil.” Charity relaxed slightly, regarding him kindly. “I’m here for you as well, you know.”

Phillip averted his eyes again. “Yes, people seem to be making it a point to tell me that lately. I appreciate it,” he hastened to add, “but I don’t see much of a point in it, myself, to be truly honest.”

“Well, that’s why we’re all trying to tell you differently.” Charity countered with tender conviction, “Especially since you’re here for all of us, as well. When you’re not running away from us.” She finished with a teasing lilt.

It was almost ironic, being treated so nicely by the woman whose husband he was enamored with. He had been trying to tell himself that he was different from Jenny Lind, but he wasn’t, really. He was willing to ruin Charity and the girls’ impressions of Phineas, was willing to further incite scandal, protest, and outrage, all for what? Because he was a bit sad and lonely, and couldn’t toughen up and handle it like everyone else in the same boat or worse? Because he wanted the people involved to know about his uncouth urges instead of stuffing it down deep inside with the rest of his repressed feelings?

None of those reasons were good enough; they just weren’t, and he needed to leave _now_ and destroy those words before he did something _unforgiveable_ —

 

“Phillip?” He barely registered Charity’s concerned tone or the fact that he’d split the remnants of his glass due to the shaking of his hands. “Phillip, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head wordlessly, unable to take in enough air to speak; his chest felt like it was working against him, heavy and tight. His vision was out of focus, black spots looming at the edge of his sight. He tried to rise out of his chair to leave but stumbled and fell, and then hands were at his shoulders, coaxing him to sit up straight and breathe.

“You’re alright, Phil, just focus on my voice,” Charity soothed, guiding one of Phillip’s hands to feel her heartbeat and the rise and fall of her sternum. “Feel that? Just breathe with me, try to copy my breaths, nice and slow, that’s it.” She patiently took breaths with him, trying to even out her own breathing as much as possible to help the young man calm down.

 

When he was calm again, despite his mortification, he couldn’t help but stare at her in a newfound kind of awe. “How did you know to do that?”

She gave him one of her sad smiles, the kind he’d seen far too often lately. “I don’t make a habit of telling people, but I trust you, so I’ll let you know. Phineas becomes overwhelmed sometimes, too, so I’ve learned what works best with him over the years. I just hoped that it would work for you, too.”

“Well, it did.” Phillip realized, to even greater chagrin, that his hand was still resting over Charity’s heart. She didn’t seem to mind it or sitting on the floor with him. He was glad, at least, that the girls hadn’t come running from their beds to see what was the matter. He was sure that neither he nor Charity would have wanted to explain. “Thank you, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I know it’s rather rude of me to be falling apart in front of you when—well, everything else is going on.”

“Phillip Carlyle,” Charity wasn’t pleased in the slightest, and Phillip felt his heartbeat quicken again for a moment or two. “You don’t listen very well when it comes to people trying to care for you, do you?” Her expression softened as quickly as it had hardened. “But then, I suppose that just proves how little practice you’ve had.”

What could he say to that? It wasn’t often that he was confronted with the honest truth so bluntly, especially by someone with nothing but good intentions. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize,” Charity cut him off. “Just,” She seemed at a loss for words herself. “Just know that you deserve people who care about you—”

He shook his head, and she looked as if she might cry. He felt the same way.

“Phillip, you do—” She reached for him, but he flinched and scooted away.

“I don’t, if you—if you _knew_ , you’d understand that I—I’m no good at all.”

“Look, whatever it is, you can tell me or not whenever you’re ready.” _How_ was she this perfect? “But in the meantime, don’t tell me what I can and can’t feel about you. You are a part of this family, Phil, and I don’t want to see you slip away from us.”

 

He could have pulled out the pages and shown her then, and that would have been the end of it, but he wasn’t ready to give this up yet, this feeling of _home_ and _welcome_ , of being the highlight of the evening to two sweet girls and sharing lonely dinners with Charity as they pined over Phineas together.

 

Instead, he let her tug him up and guide him to the guest room, and just before he drifted off into an exhausted doze, he thought he felt the slightest pressure of soft lips on his cheek.

 

His sleep was fitful and full of odd, frantic dreams, in which he never could determine if he was running away or searching for lost things.

 

.x.

 

The girls were ecstatic that Phillip had stayed the night, and he couldn’t say no to having breakfast with them, grateful that at least he was still tired enough to pretend to feel calm. He felt Charity’s gaze on him when she thought he wasn’t aware, and although he didn’t feel as threatened by her after her kindness the night before, the guilt came crashing back to him in sickening waves, fueling his anxiety.

 

“There _are_ things I need to tell you, Charity, things I should tell you,” he admitted just before bidding her goodbye. “But I think it might be better if you and Phineas found out at the same time.”

“Alright, I’ll respect that.” To her credit, she didn’t seem offended, though the disappointment clouding her ocean eyes was more than enough to make him second-guess his decision. He wondered if she was comparing him to Phineas again. “Just don’t be a stranger, Phillip.”

 

He promised not to be, even though part of him felt like he’d never stopped being one.

 

He was still trapped in his own cage, reachable through the bars but separate from their world.

 

.x.

 

That evening, he took the letter out to add one more point.

 

_P.S. I almost showed this letter to Charity last night after she calmed me down, the same way she says she does to you. I’m sorry that we have that in common, but I’m glad she helps you. She wants to help me, too. I’m beginning to understand why you love her so much. Is that strange? You’ve encouraged me to live a little crazy, but I don’t think this was what you meant._

_I sort of promised her the truth at the same time you receive it. Make of that what you will, if you ever even see this. Maybe I’ll rip it up after all, or burn it, and you’ll both just forget about me and my secrets._

_I don’t know what would be the kinder or braver decision at this point. Either way, I’m sorry for the trouble, even if Charity doesn’t understand why I’m apologizing now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where I realized that I took a weird turn. Sorry, fandom.


	4. Out of the Treachery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phillip is alone in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Barnum begins to realize that leaving was a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is where the implied/referenced sexual assault tag became necessary.

 

.x.

 

The envelope with Phineas’ name scrawled across the top continued to accompany him wherever he went. At this point, he wondered if he’d be able to part with it at all; the letter had become something of an obsession, an outlet for everything he was too confused and terrified about to voice aloud.

Yet, another part of him couldn’t help envisioning being able to hand Phineas such a damning confession in person, feeling the brush of the other man’s warm, calloused fingers at least one more time before Barnum either turned from him in revulsion or Phillip succumbed to his own cowardice and ran.

 

No matter the ending of each fantasy, he couldn’t bring himself to part with those pages.

 

.x.

 

Just a few days after his last visit to Charity and the girls, he was finishing another show. After waving away the last of their visitors, he was alone for a few minutes – just enough time for the nightly mob of protestors to encroach.

Feigning bravado he didn’t feel, Phillip tried to hold his ground, but the scathing words from those hateful faces were too much to bear. He firmly told them to leave twice, but they only seemed to grow more confident from his weak rebuttals, continuing to crowd him in, insulting the troupe – his _friends_ – calling them terrible names.

“Freaks have no place among us!”

He knew the protocol. He knew that he should refrain from engaging through argument or physical violence, that he simply needed to stand his ground until the protestors became discouraged and disbanded. The procedure wasn’t so different from dealing with hecklers back at his own plays, only those people had only hurt with words, and didn’t stand with pitchforks and torches, looking as though they were ready to rip the place apart.

Phillip knew he needed back-up, but the shout for help caught in his throat, unable to be voiced. He wanted to protect the others; it wouldn’t be the first time they were mixed up in a fight, but if it could be avoided, he wanted to spare them the trouble and risk. _He_ was the acting ringmaster, so he should be able to handle the crowds. Barnum would have known what to do.

 

He realized how well and truly _alone_ he was when hands grabbed him roughly from behind; belatedly registering that he was surrounded as he stumbled from the sudden assault.

“Are you a freak too, nancy boy?" The young man shivered at the harsh words breathed too close to his ear, carrying the scent of rotten breath and alcohol. He twisted and struggled, feeling sick with horror as large hands manhandled past his ringmaster’s coat, gripping and pinching him cruelly on his backside and between his legs. He could hear some of the other men laughing or scoffing, and his cheeks burned with indignation despite his fear. “That scum Barnum keep you around for kicks, hm? Look at you, you’re nothin’ on your own.”

“How _dare_ you accuse him of that.” Phillip found his voice again, his tone filled with cold rage. He could care less what they said about him, it was nothing he hadn’t already considered on his own, but to slander _Phineas_ —“Especially when he isn’t even here to defend himself?” He wrenched himself free from his assailant, holding his head as high as he dared, sneering at the unwelcome crowd. “It’s almost as if you’re afraid of him.”

 

He’d been halfway bracing himself for the first punch, but it still hurt, catching his jaw and causing him to lurch to the side. He lashed out blindly, feeling vindicated at the surprised cry of pain in response, but then blows rained down on his back, sides, and torso, bruising ribs and radiating sharp aches through his nerves. One of the men knocked him to the ground with a vicious blow from his pitchfork, and soon Phillip had gone from fighting back to fending off the blows as best he could, curling in on himself and shielding his head with his hands, the way he’d learned when he was young and his father lost control of his cane in a rage.

He felt just as lost and wretched now as he did then, biting his lip to keep from screaming throughout the beating, blood from the cuts on his face stinging his eyes and trickling into his mouth. He couldn’t help but gag and whimper, causing the rioters to jeer and double their efforts to make him voice his pain.

He nearly blacked out when a heavy boot collided with his ribs, feeling the sickening _crack_ as blinding, white-hot pain consumed his senses. He wasn’t sure if he screamed then or not; there were angry voices all around him, even more than before, and he dimly realized that he might die here, and if he did, that would be the end of everything. It was difficult to remember where he was or why he was being punished this time, but the pain itself was familiar, as was the feeling that he somehow deserved it.

 

It was almost a relief when he felt the impact of a blow to the back of his skull, and then he neither felt nor thought anything at all.

 

.x.

 

When Barnum was met with the overjoyed embraces of Helen and Caroline, finally able to smile at his beautiful wife again and give her the sort of kiss she’d been long overdue for, he didn’t think there was anywhere else he’d rather be. This was _home_ , and he’d been gone for far too long – he’d realized that when he’d had the opportunity to make a terrible mistake in Jenny Lind’s quarters, and again when she’d kissed him without warning or permission in front of their live audience.

 

For a moment, his smile faltered, as he wondered how to tell her everything – because they _did_ tell one another everything, or at least they’d used to, before he started keeping some secrets for himself – but before he could ponder long, they were distracted by the sound of siren bells and officers rushing down the street.

“Out of the way!” One officer called, accompanied by a horse-drawn ambulatory wagon. “Emergency at the circus, make way!”

 

It had, shamefully, been a long while since Barnum had earnestly _considered_ the circus. He felt his heart sink now, heavy with concern. “Girls, stay with me.”

He beckoned his family to follow, and they rushed through the streets on the heels of the officers and emergency responders.

 

He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find and was momentarily relieved to see the familiar figures of the troupe, alive and mostly well aside from some bruises and scrapes. Several of the troupe members were talking to officers, making their statements in between nursing black eyes, split lips, and other evidence of physical altercation.

He also recognized some of the more overzealous protestors, being detained by officers. Some were foolish enough to still be touting threats in front of the police, which wouldn’t help their case any. The circus might be unconventional, but the law was still the law. He realized that the troupe must have acted in self-defense, and felt a stab of guilt for not having been there to help. Clearly, the protests must have been escalating for quite some time, to have reached this point.

 

As he searched the faces for Phillip, however, intent on asking the younger ringmaster exactly what had happened and hopefully gain some reassurance that no one was critically injured, he quickly realized who was missing.

“Where’s Phillip?” He muttered softly before repeating his question louder, his expression quickly shifting from confusion to panic when no one answered him. “ _Where_ is Phillip?”

“Barnum,” Lettie spoke up, teary-eyed despite her voice being as strong as ever. She pointed toward the direction of a small crowd of troupe members and emergency medics, all gathered around a prone figure on the ground. “They’re trying to move him now. It’s…it’s bad.”

 

Frantically, Phineas turned to rush toward his fallen partner, hardly registering Charity’s horrified stare and the girls’ upset murmurs as they also realized who the ambulatory wagon was meant for.

 

Lettie hadn’t been exaggerating; in fact, it was more than _bad_. Barnum had seen his fair share of injured men, both on the streets and the railroads, but he was filled with sickening dread upon seeing Phillip beaten and bloodied, unmoving, still weakly curled inward on himself to ward off further attack.

 

“Oh, Phil,” he breathed out, unmasked heartache in his tone.

One of the younger ringmaster’s arms was at an awkward angle, most likely broken, and his once-pristine, flashy outfit was ripped and sullied with dirt, blood, and spit. His face was already beginning to swell with bruising, half-obscured by congealing rivulets of blood from slashes and punctures. Perhaps most concerning was the spot of blood that had appeared from beneath his head, glistening dark against his hair.

The former playwright looked so much younger in his vulnerable state, and if jostling him didn’t carry risk of further injury, Barnum would have wanted nothing more than to hold his partner against his chest and shelter him from further harm.

 

Barnum was so horrified at the sight that he hadn’t even realized that W.D. and Anne, who had been keeping watch over Phillip while the medics prepared to move him, had come to stand beside him.

“This never should have happened.” Tear trails glistened on Anne’s cheeks, and she sounded about as wretched as Phineas felt.

“We didn’t realize that he was out there alone.” W.D. shook his head. “We were all distracted, and we thought the protestors were just shouting after the show as always – he didn’t even scream until it was really far gone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Barnum found it in himself to give reassurance despite his worry. “It’s not anyone’s fault but the men who did this.” He added in a tone close to a growl, glaring toward the protestors who had been caught by the police. “I hope you at least threw some good punches.”

He normally wasn’t a vindictive man – aside from when dealing with his father-in-law, but that was another ache altogether – but in this case, he felt more than justified.

 

“He should be alright,” One of the medics spoke up after Phillip had been carefully lifted onto a stretcher. “That head wound will have to be watched, but if all his breaks are set properly and no internal bleeding occurs, he should make a full recovery.”

 

The words did little to assure Barnum. Phillip might recover physically, but whatever had transpired earlier that night would surely pain him long after his physical aches had healed.

Phineas knew that, despite the cool façade he’d first displayed as a high-class socialite, Phillip was quite a sensitive individual and held more hurt in his heart than he let on – they had some common ground in that regard. He was sorry, more than anything, that Phillip had suffered alone, partially because he himself hadn’t been around to help.

Inexplicably, he felt another rush of guilt upon realizing that he’d thought of Phillip even less than he’d thought of Charity and the girls while on tour, and in that moment, he remembered that Phillip _was_ a part of his _family_.

And speaking of family… “Has anyone told the Carlyles?”

W.D. and Anne exchanged a look. “That won’t be necessary.” Anne replied, lips pursed in disgust over the mention of Phillip’s parents.

Barnum’s brow creased in confusion. “Well, I know they’re not the best of parents, but surely they would want to know—”

“No!” Both trapeze artists seemed to feel quite strongly on the matter, and W.D. wore the protective expression usually reserved for Anne alone.

“A lot’s changed for Phillip while you’ve been gone, Barnum.” Anne added, her tone softer than before. “Even we don’t know all of it. He’s been secretive lately. But his parents want nothing to do with him. And honestly, that’s probably best for him.”

 

Barnum didn’t like the sound of that, and wondered what the Carlyles could have done that would make the troupe react like this, but there was no time to ask further questions at the moment. Charity and the girls, who had been watching Phillip from a short distance, approached with worried expressions. Phineas’ heart went out to Helen and Caroline, who were stricken at seeing the young man they adored in such a state. He was surprised, however, to see how much Charity also seemed affected by Phillip’s plight.

“Phineas, we have to follow him to the hospital.” The Barnum matriarch declared. “I told him—just the other day, I told him that we’d be there for him.”

“Of course,” He held out his arms, embracing Charity and the girls as they watched the medics lift the younger ringmaster into the ambulatory wagon. “I won’t leave him, or any of you, alone again.”

Clearly, Phineas had missed a great deal while he was away, and now that he was back, he couldn’t say that his absence had been worth the trouble at all. In fact, he felt nothing but regret and a shameful sort of gratitude that he still had a home to come back to at all. It felt both jarringly strange and more than he deserved.

 

.x.

 

After a quick check with the police to be certain he wasn’t needed, Barnum and his family rushed to the hospital. W.D. and Anne accompanied them – Anne wanted assurance that Phillip would pull through and felt the need to be there at his side, while W.D. was also concerned and wanted to support his sister.

 

They waited mostly in silence, each full of their own questions and worries, unwilling or unprepared to be voiced to the others. Barnum sat pensively with Helen and Caroline dozing fitfully between himself and Charity, whose hand was clasped in his own. His inner turmoil was greatly mollified by being close to her and the girls once again.

He felt so uncertain about what would happen next; being his feelings for Phillip and the fiasco with Jenny Lind, he was afraid that Charity would think him unfaithful. There were so many things he wanted – _needed_ – to tell her, but he knew that now was not the time.

She didn’t seem to mind, content to be near him as well. Their silence was companionable as they drew much-missed comfort and strength from one another.

 

“Here for Phillip Carlyle?” A nurse interrupted the quiet with crisp, professional cheer, and the group perked up with anxious anticipation.

“Yes, we’re all here for him.” Barnum replied.

“Mr. Carlyle is stable and resting now. You can see him if you’d like. The doctor set his arm and ribs and dressed his wounds. He’ll need to stay for at least a few days, but after that, he can heal at home. The bones will take at least six weeks to heal, but he was lucky – they’re all clean breaks. We don’t know how much his head injury has affected him just yet, but we don’t expect any complications.”

“Well, that’s great news, isn’t it?” Phineas grinned, relief cutting through his worry and fatigue. “Thank you for letting us know.”

“There’s one more thing.” The nurse withdrew a battered, stained envelope from her uniform pocket. “Mr. Barnum, I presume?”

“Yes, that’s me.” The circus owner nodded, taking the envelope with a measure of curious confusion. “What’s this about?”

“When we removed Mr. Carlyle’s waistcoat, this slipped out of his pocket. Normally, we would have placed it with his belongings for him to retrieve later, but seeing as it had your name on it, we figured you might want to have it, in case it was about something urgent.”

Phineas turned the envelope over and back again, realizing with a sinking feeling that the reddish-brown stains near one corner must have been Phillip’s own blood. “Thank you,” he murmured absently, wondering what Phillip could have so urgently wanted to tell him that he’d have rather put it in writing than wait for him to return. But then, he reasoned with a pang of guilt, he _had_ been planning on being away for a relatively long time – especially considering that Phillip had been left to run the circus alone.

 

“Are you going to read it, Daddy?” Helen spoke up as she and Caroline regarded the letter intently. The girls had been roused from their dozing by the nurse’s arrival, and were in much better spirits at hearing that Phillip would be alright.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I should.” Phineas replied, running his fingertips over the slightly wrinkled paper. Whatever the contents were, it seemed that Phillip had been holding on to the message for a while.

He turned to Charity, wordlessly imploring her advice. Anne, sensing their need for privacy, stood and beckoned for W.D. and the girls to accompany her to visit Phillip.

 

Charity rubbed her husband’s arm comfortingly, though her expression was troubled. “Phin, Phillip… I’m worried about him.”

“The nurse said he’ll pull through.”

“No, I was worried about him even before. He’s been different lately,” her words echoed what Anne had told Barnum earlier that night. “He was coming ‘round for dinner and to see the girls, sometimes, but he’s been harder to reach lately. And I think, whatever he’s dealing with…it’s more than he can handle alone.”

She shifted, standing up. Phineas reached for her, reluctant to part from her again, and she took his hand with a soft smile. “I’m not going to tell you whether you should read that letter now or not. Just know that…the last time I saw Phillip before today, he told me that he had some things he needed to tell me, but that he wasn’t ready. Maybe he’s not ready for you to read that letter yet, either. But I’m not the one to say.” She took a deep breath, squeezing her husband’s hand. “I know this isn’t the time or place, but—Phillip asked if you’d written to me. I wish you would have.”

“I wish so, too,” Phineas replied earnestly, “but it sounds like you had him around in my stead.” He couldn’t be angry or defensive; he truly had no right, but he was surprised by the closeness Charity seemed to have achieved with Phillip.

“We both needed someone,” Charity gently pulled her hand away, though her expression became shuttered. “And we both missed _you_.”

 

Left alone on the waiting bench, Barnum bowed his head for a moment, before grabbing a corner of the tattered envelope and tearing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic keeps getting longer without my intent, but hopefully I'll pull the rest together soon.


End file.
